


did we create a modern myth

by northerndavvn



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, i wrote this at 4 am yeehaw, im sad because nedspa is my otp and there's not enough fic for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerndavvn/pseuds/northerndavvn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willem tightens his fingers around Antonio's, and Antonio squeezes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	did we create a modern myth

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this earlier this morning because i'm having this weird allergic reaction on my feet and i couldn't sleep
> 
> i was listening to love me dead by ludo, rabbit heart by florence, and don't stop by innerpartysystem while i was touching it up

They never talked when they were together.

They met silently, and there were hot, wet gasps and begging, pleading-  _please please please more please faster_ \- but they never spoke.

Afterwards, they would move to the window, settle in the sill swaddled in old quilts, their sweat-dried skin sticking together uncomfortably. The empty space between them would fill with slow, even breaths and a tension that had festered there for centuries.

And when it became to much to bear, they would part ways just as quietly as they had come together.

* * *

Spain used to have a voice like thunder.

Low, deep, commanding; you could feel it in your bones. It was not a voice you disobeyed. That was something that Willem had learned the hard way.

Now, though, that rumbling, rolling thinder is gone. When he slips into bed with feathery light kisses and tender hands, the only lift to his words is that of breathy laughter or a wanton moan. 

Sometimes, Willem wonders where the thunder went.

* * *

Antonio likes to watch Willem from the bed when he thinks he's asleep.

He'll feel the mattress creak at two in the morning, will listen to Willem rustle around for something to wear. When Antonio opens his eyes, just a bit, Willem will be peering out the window at the rainy streets, shorts slung low on his hips and smoke wafting from the corner of his mouth.

These gentle moments are nice, a soothing balm to the bruises and bite marks that still litter Antonio's skin. His fingers will fist in the sheets, reminiscent of hours passed, and a faint smile will twitch up the edges of his lips. He'll nuzzle into the pillow, breathe deeply of Willem's strange smell of cedar and marijuana.

He falls asleep, unaware of the hard, blue-green eyes that rest upon him.

* * *

He had the infection. A wanderlust, a fierceness, a need for more.  _More more more._ Red veins crept into the corners of his eyes.

Spain would smile a grin that had too many teeth, irises a cold jade. He remembers, once, a bed of gold; coins, mostly, but jewelry and gems, as well. He remembered beautiful girls with dark skin and feathers twined into their silky hair, his wandering hands and their simpering smiles. ( _They still dance in his dreams._ _)_

He hadn't been able to see the insincerity, then, the fear. He wouldn't have cared even if he had. 

There was an insatiable lust that lurked beneath his skin, seeping into muscle and bone and into his very being. It was a lust for power, for control, a lust for gold that burned as bright as the sun.

It's still there, somewhere.

* * *

His hands are always dry in the winter.

It doesn't matter how much moisturizer he uses, or where he's at; that's just the way he's always been. France always tells him to wear gloves, but he doesn't listen. When Netherlands holds his hand, Spain's fingers feel brittle, fragile, and he frowns.

Antonio just laughs, tugs him along.

At night they sit on the top of the apartment building, bundled up and watching the sky. They're just outside the city, the dark settling thick and quiet around them, stars twinkling faintly up above. The streets are wet, covered in mush that isn't quite snow but isn't quite water, either, and their breaths fog up the air in front of their faces. 

Willem tightens his fingers around Antonio's, and Antonio squeezes back.

* * *

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"I don't know. Everything. Anything. Something."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I do."


End file.
